The North America’s Cup, staged at Utah Olympic Park, attracted a motley assembly of twenty‑five nations in a spectacle that felt more like a pneumatic runway than a sled race. The International Bobsled and Skeleton Federation, shepherded by R.J. Shannon, tried to orchestrate a dignified tableau, yet the gala‑thin silence was punctured by frantic camera crews and the scent of luxury perfume. Akwasi Frimpong, the sovereign of the track, fared well under a sky of frantic applause, while the elite guest list comprised athletes, donors, and a sprinkle of Hollywood—though most of the glittering faces were merely paying to pose. The traffic was a herculean tantrum, a mountain of snow‑slick limousines clogging the outskirts of Park City, yet the unobstructed entry to the inner track secured a palpable sense of privilege.
Verdict: Avoid the Main Street crush.